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PART OF

SIXTH CHAPTER OF MATTHEW.

(THOMSON.) When my breast labours with oppressive care, And o'er my cheek descends the falling tear, While all my warring passions are at strife, Oh let me listen to the word of life! Raptures, deep felt, his doctrine did impart, And thus he raised from earth the drooping heart. Think not, when all your scanty stores afford Is spread at once upon the sparing board; Think not, when worn the homely robe appears, While on the roof the howling tempest bears; What farther shall this feeble life sustain, And what shall clothe these shivering limbs again, Say, does not life its nourishment exceed? And the frail body its investing weed? Behold and look away your low despairSee the light tenants of the barren air : To them, nor stores, nor granaries belong, Nought but the woodland and the pleasing song; Yet your kind heavenly Father bends his eye On the least wing that fits along the sky. To hiru they sing, when spring renews the plain, To him they cry, in winter's pinching reign : Nor is their music nor their plaint in vain; He hears the gay and the distressful call, And with unsparing bounty fills them all. Observe the rising lilies snowy grace, Observe the various vegetable race; They neither toil, nor spin, but careless grow, Yet see how warm they blush, how bright they glox!

What regal vestments can with them compare!
What king so shining, or what queen so fair!
If ceaseless thus the fowls of heaven he feeds,
If o'er the fields such lucid robes he spreads,
Will he not care for you, ye faithless, say !
Is he unwise, or are ye less than they!

WARNINGS.

(QUARLES.]

WAGES of sin is death : the day is come,
Wherein the equal hand of death must sum
The several items of man's fading glory
Into the easy total of one story.
The brows that sweat for kingdoms and renowil,
To glorify their temples with a crown;
At length grow cold, and leave their honoured name
To flourish in the uncertain blast of fame.
This is the height that glorious mortals can
Attain; this is the highest pitch of man.
The mighty conqueror of the earth's great ball,
Whose unconfined limits were too small
For his extreme ambition to deserve,--
Six feet of length and three of breadth must serve.
This is the highest pitch that man can fiy;
And, after all his triumph, he must die.

Lives he in wealth? Does well-deserved store
Limit his wish, that he can wish no more?
And does the faircst bounty of increase
Crown him with plenty, and his days with peace ?
It is a right-hand blessing : but supply
Of wealth cannot secure him; he must die.

Lives he in pleasure? Does perpetual mirth
Lend him a little heaven upon this earth?
Meets he no sullen care, no sudden loss
To cool his joys? Breathes he without a cross?
Wants he no pleasure that his wantou eye
Can crave or hope from fortune? He must die.

Lives he in honour ? hath his fair desert
Obtain'd the freedom of his prince's heart?
Or may his more familiar hands disburse
His liberal favours from the royal purse ?
Alas! his honour cannot soar too high
For pale-fac'd Death to follow; he must die.

Lives he a conqueror ? and doth heaven bless
His heart with spirit : that spirit with success;
Success with glory; glory with a name,
To live with the eternity of fame?
The progress of his lasting fame may vie
With time : but yet the conqueror must die.

Great and good God! thou Lord of life and death,
In whom the creature hath its being, breath;
Teach me to under-prize this life, and I
Shall find my loss the easier when I die.
So raise my feeble thoughts and dull desire,
That, when these vain and weary days expire,
I may discard my flesh with joy, and quit
My better part of this false earth, and it
Of some more sin; and for this transitory
And tedious life enjoy a life of glory.

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Rock of ages, rent for me!

Let me hide myself in Thee; Let the water and the blood,

From Thy riven side which flow'd, Be of sin the double cure,

Cleanse me from its guilt and power!

Not the labour of my hands

Can fulfil thy law's demands; Could my zeal no respite know,

Could my tears for ever flow, All for sin could not atone :

Thou must save, and Thou alone!

Nothing in my hand I bring,

Simply to Thy cross I cling: Naked, come to Thee for dress;

Helpless, look to Thee for grace; Vile, I to the fountain fly;

Wash me, Saviour, or I die.

While I draw this fleeting breath,

When my eyelids close in death, When I soar to worlds unknown,

See Thee on Thy judgment throne, Rock of ages, rent for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee !

THE HOUR OF PEACE.

[GISBORNE.]
When groves, by moon-light, silence keep,

And winds the vexed waves release,
And fields are hush'd, and cities sleep :

Lord ! is not this the hour of peace ?
When infancy at evening tries

By turns to climb each parent's knees,
And gazing meets their raptur'd eyes: .

Lord! is not this the hour of peace ?
In golden pomp when autumn smiles ;

And hill and dale its rich increase
By man's full barns' exulting piles :

Lord ! is not this the hour of peace ?
When Mercy points where Jesus bleeds,

And Faith beholds thy anger cease,
And hope to blank despair succeeds :

This, Father, this alone is peace !

THE

SPIRIT'S MINISTERINGS.

[REV. H. STEBBING.)

There's a sound of the summer coming from far, A wakening call to the earth, And brightly the light of the morning star, Falls where the rose has birth : There's a breath of meadows and odorous flowers, Mixed with the music of many bowers, And a spirit the light and music fills, The spirit of joy breathing where it wills !

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